Ophelia Thinks Harder
by Buttercup Meadows
Summary: Ophelia is a hitwoman and vigilante with a grudge, a wise cracking werewolf work partner, an insane seer, a pissed off shapeshifter, a history that doesn't quite fit and one hell of a job to do.


The bar in Seattle was smoky and crowded. I cut through it with slow purpose, looking, searching. He was here somewhere, I could feel it in my bones, he wouldn't catch me this ti-

"ARGH!" I yelled, swirling round as something cold and wet found it's way into my ear. "Damnit Blake!" I glared at the grinning werewolf, who was openly laughing at me. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Why Ophelia, do you really think so ill of me?" he was grinning, his mouth a red dash against a pale face, spiky black hair flopping slightly to the left this time. He was still too thin, and had acquired a third piercing, his eyebrow this time to accompany his tongue and nose.

I gave him a withering look, or as best of one as I could manage. "Yes, yes I do. I've been working with you for nearly thirty years now damnit, I know you," his only response was to grin wider, then to lean over and tug a strand of sandy blonde hair out of my working bun. I glared at him again and tucked it behind my ear, catching a glance of myself in the mirror over the bar with a grimace. Damn. I had purple bags under my eyes almost as big as my eyes myself. And they were still flashing blue from that stupid spell Blake made me use for our last job.

I scowled and Blake followed my gaze, sniggering. "Come on, Brown-eyed-girl," he taunted, catching the sleeve of my khaki jacket and tugging me through the crowd to a table. "I did tell you this was a good one."

I rolled my strobing eyes, but complied, thinking of all the things I would like to do to my annoying work partner, mostly involving foot long spikes made entirely of silver. Blake and I had met when I was doing a job down in Mississippi, werewolf gangs running downtown Jackson every full moon, terrorising the local humans. I had gone down there alone, as I so often worked, and, as a result, almost gotten myself killed. Blake had turned up in the morning, freed me and found my bullet stash, loading up a couple of Uzis. With him to watch my back, the bastards hadn't stood a chance.

Blake sat down at a table with a couple of others at it and I yanked out a chair next to him for myself. "I thought you said she had brown eyes," a voice said quietly.

I frowned in annoyance. "I do. Normally. I'll give you this advice free – witches aren't reliable," I sunk back down, shoulders squaring off rigidly. The next trick would be if he could pick up on the _unspoken_ advice of not to annoy me. "Also," I said, taking a knife out of my belt and twirling the point on the table, "I am perfectly capable of speaking for myself."

Blake rolled his eyes and flicked the knife. "Put it away Ophy, Rodge has already made it perfectly clear that if he sees it again you'll be banned."

I quirked an eyebrow at him and slipped it back in my belt. "So what's the job?" I asked, drawing it out into a drawl.

The unseen douche-bag who had made the comment about my eyes opened his mouth again, but gasped as an elbow caught him in the ribs. A beautiful, dare I say it, _sexy_, young woman with dark skin, nearly black eyes and silky black hair glared at him. "My idea, Jared, I get to put it out there," her tone was annoyed and very exasperated – it looked like she'd been dealing with him for a while. She turned and met my gaze coolly. "There's a weird-ass coven of vampires up in Forks, Washington State. I heard you do hits."

I cocked an eyebrow. "I also do vigilantism _pro bono_," not, strictly speaking, true, but _damn_ that girl was fine. Oh dear lord – I need to get out of the werewolf bars. Blake gave me an odd look, but didn't comment.

She smiled thinly. "They haven't, strictly speaking," she grimaced, "Done anything _wrong_," her tone indicated that in this case, she would really like to redefine 'wrong'.

I shrugged. "Hit then. How many and what type?"

She paused, lips moving silently for a second. "Nine vamps. Few shifters as well, but they aren't exactly a huge issue and one of them may or may not be my annoying brother. I dunno about the type of vamp, but they're practically indestructible and they fucking _sparkle_ in the sun."

My easy grin slid off my face like a bucket of slime off a mirror. _Sparklers_. Fucking _sparklers_. "I'll do this one for free," I said coolly. "I hate motherfucking _sparklers_."

My opinions on the supernatural are kind of divided. Werewolves and I tend to get on, as long as they aren't trying to kill me or anyone else pretty much. I did mention the vigilante thing didn't I? No? Oops. Shapeshifters, witches, the odd faery (though I tend to avoid those – creep the fuck out of me), the psychically inclined, people like myself and regular-ass vamps I'm pretty much cool with, as long as they fulfil the aforementioned criteria. Sparklers just offend my sensibilities.

She raised an eyebrow in surprise, but gave a twisted smile. "Definitely agree with you there."

I nodded and downed the drink Blake had given me, the vodka searing my throat. "Anyone up to help out?" I asked, eyes tearing a little. "I'll shout a pay pack."

Just because I have a personal vendetta against these… things, that doesn't mean I'm above aid. They fucking _scare_ me.

Blake rolled his eyes and put his palm in the centre of the table. "Once again, the insane werewolf finds himself dragged along by the psychopathic pyromancer."

I grinned at him, laying my palm next to his. "I never drag you along."

The woman surprised me by grinning evilly and putting her hand in. "Just give me an excuse," she said, eyes dancing darkly.

The man next to her gave her a disapproving look, and for he first time I saw his face.

Meh. Boring.

The chair next to me scraped out, and a plain looking girl with badly died green hair and bloodshot blue eyes sat down, reaching her hand out for the centre. "Count me in."

Blake gave her a disapproving look. "Ceres," he said simply.

She smiled airily at him. "I get the feeling a seer could come in handy."

The woman gave her an odd look, but I shrugged. "Nice to have you along Ceres. We can always use a future seer."

A bottle-blonde werewolf woman deposited four glasses of mead on the table with a note. '_Luck. – R._' I turned my head and grinned in the direction of the bar. I couldn't see him, but Rodge was there, and with Rodge, deal makers were freebies.

Blake, the woman and Ceres each yanked a mead. I picked up mine and held it over our hands as the deal maker. "To a job well done," I said, taking a long drink. My sentiment was echoed three times and we downed the mead. It was sweet, almost sickly so, and it made my head spin as I lowered the glass, gasping for breath slightly.

The woman grinned at me, licking her lips, teeth bright. "Leah Clearwater. Shifter."

"Ophelia. Very portable flame thrower."


End file.
